Lilies in the Air
by badgerjaw
Summary: Spring isn't always the time for love. Sometimes it comes in the dying summer, with the smell of late lilies in the air. MionRena


The curls of late summer moved through the breezy day with all the languid sweetness of a flower's perfume, whose presence did not invade, but pulled on the sleeve of consciousness like a shy child. The grass, the trees, the moss growing on the occasional rocks peeking out of the river, seemed especially green that day, even though a good rain had not come since very early in July. The river itself seemed to be more lively than usual. If someone were to follow its course, they would find that it chattered and babbled and perhaps even roared (if they went far enough upstream and listened while they dangled their legs over the edge of the bridge) the entire way, happily engaging everything in a one-sided conversation.

It was the kind of day that I had only heard of in fairy tales. I sincerely believe that if someone were depressed before stepping out into the gentle sunlight, they wouldn't be once they closed their front door and felt the warmth on their face.

Perhaps that's why I had the urge to confess on that particular day. The village endowed with heady euphoria, the relentless kind, quickened my heart and made it bolder, more honest, so that when I looked at her, leading her bike along with me down the road we took to school, I felt the confession rising in my chest, up my throat, and over my tongue to come tumbling out like a toddler attempting to perform a somersault.

"I love you."

I guess I felt very childish that day.

As those three words hung between us by the little mill, I felt the sudden need to brace myself against the handlebars of my bike. Tauntingly, beyond our little sphere of existence, the sun crept steadily along the arc of the sky; a train of ants marched in and out of the knee-high grass; a gust of wind picked up, tousled our hair, and left the lingering scent of late lilies. But we, we became statues, gargoyles stranded in bright noon. Her face froze in between the motions of carefree happiness and the classic look of a deer being caught in the headlights. Behind her eyes, thoughts flickered about as if trying to piece together what I had said, what it meant, and what she should do. That look scared me.

"Love?" she asked. Choked out, rather. She too supported herself on her handlebars because her knees didn't seem to have any will left to support her.

I averted my eyes from hers, for shame made my eyes cloud with tears.

What should I say? Should I lie and tell her that I had been joking and share a nervous laugh with her before we continued on to the club meeting? Should I tell her how I felt about her from the depths of my heart and risk it suffering another blow? Should I act as if I hadn't said anything and act worried? I don't know... But the smell of lilies in the air stirred my heart again, but it didn't chase the fear away.

"I–" I started, but it sounded more like a sob. She heard it too, and though she was uncomfortable, she moved a couple of centimeters closer as if to comfort me. "I – yeah, I... I said that."

Moments passed in near silence, only the breaths of ourselves and the wind easing through. Sometimes the creaking of the mill or the hesitant humming of the cicadas would answer. Her eyes fixed their gaze on me; I felt it on the side of my face as I pretended to be interested in the waving grass.

"Rena..." And she stopped there, rethinking her words probably, something she very rarely did. "Maybe we should sit down..."

We propped our bikes against the side of the mill and sat on the edge of the irrigation system, which broke of from the river about a kilometer upstream. She draped legs over the gurgling water and braced her heels against the opposite stone edge, while I simply crossed my legs and absentmindedly played with the grass about us.

Every now and then, she talked for a minute, trying to break the tension between us, but her idle words slid off the barrier of my silence, soon forgotten so that even an hour later we couldn't recall them. I wanted to talk, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. Not about random topics that, in the end, would get us nowhere. Every time she prepared herself to talk, my heart swelled in anticipation because that time she was finally going to reply to my confession instead of dancing this awkward waltz. But it deflated painfully when it became clear she was not addressing it. My heart started to ache the second time. By the fifth, it felt like most of my heart was gone.

I had enough of it.

"Mion, can we forget about what I said?" I asked, finally looking at her with a quivering resolution. "I can't win. You like Keiichi anyhow, right?"

"What does Keiichi have to do with this?" she asked.

"Well, it's hard not to notice how you feel about him, especially after he gave you that doll over a year ago. Even Satoko has begun to notice."

She turned bright red. "Are you jealous of that?"

"The only thing I'm jealous of is that I wasn't the one to give you that doll. If I had fought a little harder or stolen his idea, then I might've had a chance."

This time it was she who looked away, but not out of embarrassment. She seemed to be deep in thought, her eyes fixed on the ripples in the water below her legs, which cast strings of light on her jeans. Was she thinking about that day, remembering when he handed her that doll, or did she contemplate how she might have felt if _I_ had given it to her. Was she wishing that I had never said those three seemingly fatal words. Curiosity gnawed at me as I watched her out of the corner of my eye.

My heart thumped in anxiety when she finally seemed to snap out of it. By then the sun had moved enough to touch the trees on the mountains. Straightening up, she took a deep breath and looked at me once again.

"I think I would've liked to get it from you," she said.

"What?"

"It would've meant a lot more coming from you. Keiichi wasn't going to keep it anyway, but if you had gotten it, I'd be surprised if you gave it to me since you like cute things so much."

The thumping in my chest seemed to grow louder. "But he could've easily given it to me since it really was cute." I sighed. It really was a cute doll.

"He probably thought that you had enough cute things. Besides..."

Suddenly, something soft and warm pressed against my lips, surprising me. She leaned into the kiss, eyes closed, hands braced on either side of me. Her kiss, which I had been to shy to dream about, seemed to be that for the mere moments that our lips touched that first time. When she pulled away, I was left to wonder if she had really kissed me, or if I had drifted off some time ago. But I tasted her on me and I could still feel the touch of her lips, so it must have been real.

"... Keiichi's just a dumb boy anyway," she said, a smile playing about her lips. Laughing gently, she helped me stand and pressed another kiss to my cheek, which lingered for a few teasing moments before dissolving away. "I'm willing to give this a try if you are."

Again, my heart felt swollen, but this time not with anxiety and seemingly misspent hope. Warmth, more soothing than the sun's, filled it and ran over so that my chest seemed too small to contain it all. I clung to her hand out of sheer nerves, maybe excitement. My voice seemed to be caught in my throat and with all my coaxing, it didn't seem to have the will to come out and answer her. Instead I nodded fervently and clutched her hand hoping, she'd get that I was happy, overwhelming happy, insanely happy.

A wider smile graced her face, one of those insanely charming, yet mischievous smiles that I often thought about, and she nodded down the road, where we had been heading what seemed hours before.

"The others may be worried. Perhaps we should go on to club before all hell breaks loose?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice finally deciding to work once again. "Let's go."

We mounted our bikes and took to the road again.

The day had returned to it's blissful beauty. Tattered clouds stretched along the arc of the sky, chasing after the slowly descending sun with weary dedication. Trees murmured to each other in their high whispering voices, eager and awake as the wind spoke through them in steady rhythms. Behind us, small spits of dust rose up, floated and disappeared in the very same puffs of air that bore the scent of late lilies.

The beginning of something beautiful was the only thing that brightened an already gorgeous day.


End file.
